


Sherlock's Schedule

by CastielMorningstar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Desperation, Embarrassed Sherlock Holmes, Omorashi, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-08 03:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielMorningstar/pseuds/CastielMorningstar
Summary: Sherlock has a very strict schedule for when he eats, sleeps, drinks, and uses the bathroom.What happens when this schedule is interrupted?





	1. The Trial

**Author's Note:**

> This was a single oneshot but I had more ideas so made it a multi fic, enjoy.

**Chapter summary:**

**When his scheduled bathroom break is disrupted, just before Moriarty's trial, Sherlock is left trapped in the court room and gradually growing desperate, until John has to intervene.**

“You alright, Sherlock?” asked John quietly, glancing over at the consulting detective sitting beside him.

They were at Moriarty’s trial.

“I’m fine.” Came the default response from the stoic man, however he was far from fine.

He was angry about the fact that he wasn’t fine, because this was all the fault of the man who had thrown off his schedule.

Sherlock Holmes had tried to make himself the least human as he possibly could, which included training his body with a strict schedule. There were very specific times when he ate, drank, and used the toilet.

This ensured for no surprises from his body when he was dealing with an important case.

It was an ingenuous system. Except when someone threw it off.

It didn’t happen often, but it had happened a few times with John, before he’d learnt Sherlock’s ‘schedule’, which had left the detective very uncomfortable at times due to hunger, or thirst. But he had never had his toilet schedule disrupted.

Until today.

It was before the trial, 1:30 to be exact, which was Sherlock’s scheduled afternoon bathroom break. Everything was going fine. John was talking to some old friend, which gave Sherlock the perfect opportunity to hurry off to the bathroom and be back before he was missed, and there were 15 minutes until the trial began, which meant he didn’t risk missing that either.

It was perfect.

However when Sherlock was merely steps away from the bathroom, a man in a suit ran up to him and grabbed his shoulder, steering him away from it.

“Very sorry Mr Holmes, but the trial has been suddenly moved earlier and is starting right now.” He explained as Sherlock internally panicked, glancing at the bathroom from the corner of his eye and debating if he dare ask for just two minutes to relieve himself.

But Sherlock was very socially inept, and hated showing his humanity at all, so he said nothing and allowed himself to be chaperoned to the court room where he took his place beside John.

Now it was half an hour into the trial, and half an hour after Sherlock’s scheduled ‘break’.

Sherlock had a fairly well trained bladder, but he found himself beginning to shuffle in his seat as the minutes ticked on, and the coffee he’d consumed earlier churned inside him.

John had cottoned on very quickly, as Sherlock never fidgeted, ever. He always sat perfectly still, unless there was something wrong.

“Are you sure?”

Sherlock bit back with a response as soon as John was finished speaking, “Yes, John. Now shut up.”

This court case was being televised around the country. Anything that looked out of place would be paid a lot of attention to, and the two of them talking was definitely something that would draw attention.

John left it alone for now and turned his attention back to the case. Sherlock tried too, but the pressure in his bladder was only getting worse and worse, harder to ignore.

This court case would probably go for easily another hour before there was a break-the case was supposed to last all day-and while Sherlock had good control, he didn’t know if it was that good.

The time ticked on and it was now almost an hour since Sherlock’s scheduled break, and he was beginning to struggle. His subtle fidgeting and become more noticeable, and even begun to shake the table. He was also pressing his long legs together at occasional intervals, giving him momentary relief from the building pressure.

John definitely noticed and turned to Sherlock again, watching his behaviour with a confused frown, “Sherlock, what is wrong with you?”

Sherlock merely shook his head lightly, staring intently at the current prosecutor, refusing to admit to John what was wrong; this situation was embarrassing enough without John finding out about it.

But John was not an idiot, despite Sherlock often saying so, and after watching Sherlock’s motions for another few moments, he asked, “Do you need to use the loo?”

At John’s words, Sherlock face his face heat up with embarrassment, which in turn made him more embarrassed and caused him to blush harder.

Blushing, the one emotional reaction Sherlock had little to no control over. He hated when it happened, and got embarrassed from the fact that he was blushing, which never helped his case. Especially in this particularly embarrassing situation.

“No.” Sherlock said firmly, despite his face and body actions telling differently.

John gave him the ‘you’re an awful liar’ look, “Sherlock, you’re not exactly being subtle.”

Now Sherlock was angry. This whole situation wasn’t supposed to have happened. That’s what his schedule was for, to prevent embarrassing situations like this. Which is why the truth came pouring out, “It isn’t my fault John. I was supposed to go before the trial, but it began early which threw off my schedule.” He hissed.

John was silent for a moment, looking quite surprised that Sherlock had not only confessed, but had explained why. “Oh…well you’ll have to excuse yourself. There’s still half an hour left to go, and you’re due to testify soon.”

Sherlock shook his head rather aggressively, “Not happening.” Excusing himself to use the toilet in a crowded court room, at a case being televised around the country would ruin him. He’d just have to hold on.

The military doctor sighed, “Sherlock, I know it’s embarrassing but the alternative is wetting yourself. Do you really want that?”

Sherlock felt that involuntary blush creep onto his face again and he snapped back, “I’ll think of something, John!”

“Mr Holmes, do you have something to say?” The judge suddenly asked upon hearing Sherlock’s rather loud reply.

Sherlock felt cameras and eyes being turned on him, and he tried his hardest to look as nonchalant as possible, forcing his blush away and making himself sit still.

“No…nothing, your honour.”

Sherlock hated having attention on him; his pompous attitude was all false. He really didn’t like attention, especially from people in power. It made him incredibly uncomfortable and insecure.

The judge raised an eyebrow, but kept talking, “Okay, anyway Mr Holmes, it is your time to speak. Please come up to the stand.”

Sherlock felt all the blood drain from his face, and his stomach felt like it was full of lead.

There was no way he could go up there and testify with all eyes on him, while he was barely able to stay still whilst sitting down. But this was a very important case, he couldn’t just not testify.

John noticed how Sherlock hesitated and thumped his arm lightly, “Sherlock!”

Sherlock looked at him with panic in his eyes as he frantically thought up an excuse as to why he needed to leave the court room, so he could very quickly nip to the toilet before he testified.

“I…um…forgot some of my papers, your honour. May I go and get them? It would only take a moment…um your honour.” He took a deep breath and actually prayed that he would be let go.

“Are you joking? Of course, not. Mr Holmes, I find it very unprofessional of you to make such a silly mistake. Now come up here and make your case, otherwise we’ll have to move on.”

The detective for once, had no idea what to do. He glanced to John, who felt pity for the man upon seeing how panicked he clearly was.

“You need to tell him why you need to be excused.” John repeated but once again, Sherlock refused.

“No, I can’t.”

John frowned at him, “Sherlock.”

“Sherlock Holmes, come up here now!”

The sudden yell from the judge, along with the loud sound of the gavel hitting the wooden desk, startled Sherlock and he felt the front of his trousers get the slightest bit wet.

Sherlock’s panic tripled and he pressed his legs even tighter together, his breathing erratic as he wondered what to do; there was no way he could get up to testify now, he’d wet himself in front of the whole court, the whole country, and Moriarty his arch enemy.

John watched the whole thing before deciding enough was enough, “I’m sorry Sherlock.” He said to the detective before standing up.

“Your honor. I’m afraid Sherlock must be excused from this session for a few moments, it is a necessity.”

The judge frowned, “A necessity? What necessity?”

Sherlock was just staring down at his shoes at this point, unable to hide his humiliation anymore. He was blushing madly and just wanted to die then and there. Everyone was looking at him, and it was the worst feeling in the world.

John felt awful for this, because he knew how humiliating this must be for Sherlock, but there was no other choice, “A toilet break, your honor.” He tried to put it as gently as he could, but the words were still agonising for John to say, let alone for Sherlock to hear.

Sherlock closed his eyes at this point, hearing people in the court room chuckling at the proclamation.

Even the judge seemed amused, “A toilet break? You’re telling me that Sherlock Holmes wants a toilet break, in the middle of a very important case that is being shown around the country.”

There were a few more chuckles from the court, a bit louder this time.

John swallowed and merely nodded before sitting back down, looking at Sherlock with a sad expression. He hated seeing his friend so distraught.

The judge now turned on Sherlock, “Mr Holmes. You are supposed to be a professional detective, are you not?  And I was fairly sure that consulting detectives knew when the appropriate time to use the toilet was, correct?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He was so mortified, he was physically incapable of speaking. Besides, he had no idea what to say. He could hardly explain his schedule to this judge and the whole court, they wouldn’t understand it.

Meanwhile, whilst he bathed in humiliation, the pressure was not getting any better and Sherlock now knew that despite this being an awful situation, if he had gotten up and tried to testify, he would have wet himself. And that was probably the only situation that could have made this worse.

On top of all of this, Sherlock felt his eyes beginning to sting with oncoming tears. It seemed that this huge wave of sudden emotional distress had broken down all his emotional barriers, and the natural response to cry when something this humiliating happened, had hit him.

To make matters worse, he could heard Moriarty laughing from up on the balcony, and he heard a television reporter say into a microphone, “Breaking news, Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective, has called for a toilet break just before testifying during the Moriarty case.”

The detective honestly wanted to die at that moment. He knew his reputation was ruined, and he could never show his face in public again.

The judge had paused for a moment whilst he discussed the matter with some of his co-workers and finally announced, “It is uncustomary to grant special breaks for people in court, Mr Holmes-“

Sherlock felt another wave of panic go through him. He couldn’t testify, or even keep sitting here for another half hour, or he would lose complete control of his bladder.

“-However, the court has decided to grant you permission this once, as we are very interested to hear your testimony for this trial.”

Sherlock relaxed slightly, a wave of relief going through him. He was not going to be forced to wet himself.

He heard the gavel hit the wooden desk, “You have five minutes Mr Holmes! If you are not back by then, we will proceed without you.”

Sherlock nodded to show he understood and mumbled a thank you, despite it being unable to be heard. But he hesitated before getting up.

Thankfully his trousers were black, so the small wet spot should not be seen, but he was still terrified incase it could somehow be seen.

Very slowly, he got to his feet, trying very hard not to noticeably squirm or cross his legs, but it was really hard because of how desperate he now was.

John looked at Sherlock again with that look of sympathy, feeling truly sorry for his friend. He knew how important his dignity was to him, and now he’d just lost it all.

Sherlock met John’s eyes and his already red face went even redder. On top of everything else, his only friend had also had to witness this, which just made everything even worse.

Testifying was very important, but there was no way Sherlock could testify after this. He pushed his folder of notes over to John, “Testify for me.” Was all he said before fast-walking to the exit, trying to ignore all of the eyes and cameras burning into him.

Once he was out into the hallway, Sherlock broke into a run, booking it to the nearest bathroom.

As he ran, small spurts of urine escaped and made his trousers damper, causing Sherlock in response to run faster to prevent losing complete control. He burst into the thankfully empty bathroom, rushed to a urinal and practically ripped his zip down in his rush to empty his bursting bladder.

The relief as he was finally able to go, was incredible, and the detective couldn’t hold back the slightest moan of pleasure as the unbearable pressure drained away.

However when Sherlock had relieved himself and he’d washed his hands, the detective now had a harsh reality to face. As he stood there in front of the sink, looking at his flushed and teary face, Sherlock just broke down.

The man slid down the wall so he was sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, hiding his curly head in his knees as he began to sob.

His reputation was ruined, and he’d lost all dignity he had.

Sherlock just felt so despaired and hopeless.

It was at that moment when the bathroom door burst open. Sherlock cringed into himself, knowing that his reputation was now further soiled, now someone had seen him crying, however those fears were dashed as he heard a familiar voice.

“Sherlock.”

It was John.

Sherlock still didn’t lift his head, grateful it wasn’t a stranger, but it was still John, and he hated letting anyone see him cry, especially people he knew.

“G-go away Jo-ohn.” He gasped into his knees.

John knelt beside his friend, concerned, “Sherlock please. I know you’re embarrassed but you need to testify. You’re better than I am. In order to convict Moriarty, we really need you.”

The detective slowly forced his head up, taking deep, hitching breaths as he wiped his eyes with his suit jacket sleeve, “I-I know John…But…I-I can’t…I just c-completely humiliated mys-self in front o-of the whole c-country!”

John sighed, unsure of what else to say to comfort the man, “I know it sucks, Sherlock. But if you hide in here, you’ll just make things worse for yourself. You have to go back out there with your head high, give that awesome testimony and lock Moriarty up where he belongs.”

Sherlock hated to admit it, but John was good at encouragement, so he sighed and slowly pushed himself to his feet, shuffling to the sink and splashed his face with water, pulling himself together, “You’re right John.” He dried his face with a paper towel, turning to face the man and forcing to stand tall.

However when he began to walk towards the door, he became aware of his damp trousers, which were sticking to the inside of his legs. Sherlock paused, swallowing his pride and turned to John who was behind him, “Can you…can you tell that…” he couldn’t bring himself to ask if John could tell that his trousers were wet, but the doctor knew what he meant.

He shook his head, “No, they’re too dark to tell.”

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn’t ideal, and he wished he could change but this would be fine for now.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and exited the bathroom, walking through the hallway and into the courtroom with his head held high.

There were whispers as soon as he entered, but Sherlock ignored them, grabbed his folder and proceeded to the stand to give his testimony.

Everything was going fine until he got a bit too smart, and ended up being put in a jail cell.

It really wasn’t his day.


	2. John's shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is released from his cell, and avoids press and Lestrade and Sally, who are eager to interrogate him about what happened in the court.  
> John has a shower that coincides with Sherlock's evening bathroom visit.   
> What will Sherlock do?

As soon as Sherlock was released from the jail cell, he hurried for the exit. He wanted to get home and lock himself in his room for as long as he could.

Despite having had around 3 hours alone, the event in the courtroom was still fresh in his mind, and the embarrassment hadn’t left his mind.

John scolded him for being cheeky when he came to collect him, but when he saw that Sherlock was clearly still bothered about the earlier incident he stopped, walking the rest of the way outside in silence.

Sherlock was definitely not expecting the swarm of reporters who were lingering outside, and pounced on him and John as soon as they were outside.

Various questions about the case were asked, but there were a few about the incident which made Sherlock blush and try to hide behind his coat collar.

“Mr Holmes, do you have some sort of medical condition?”

“This will make an amazing headline, would you mind posing for a picture? Stand like you were in the court room.”

Sherlock blushed brightly and scowled angrily at the reporters, “I am merely a human who has human functions. There is nothing wrong with that, now get out of my way.” He shoved his way through the reporters and to the awaiting police car.

“Sherlock, that was quite the stunt you pulled.” Stated Lestrade, who by horrible coincidence was the driver of this police car, and sat in the passenger seat was Sally Donovan, who had a grin on her face.

“Can we get a different car?” Sherlock muttered and Lestrade shook his head.

“No, unless you want to wait for a taxi with this lot harassing you.” He gestured to the reporters, and Sherlock sighed and reluctantly got in, his head down.

He blinked away the camera flashes that were still dancing in his vision, firmly staring out the window in silence, refusing to answer Lestrade’s statement.

“So you actually are human, Sherlock. I was beginning to wonder if you were.” Sally chuckled but Sherlock didn’t respond, his fist merely clenching in response.

Lestrade then joined in, “Honestly Sherlock, what were you pulling? If you hadn’t testified, do you have any idea what could have happened?”

Then Sherlock snapped, “Yes Lestrade I am perfectly aware, but I don’t think it would be very good for your image if the man who helped win you the case, soiled himself in the court now would it?”

After his outburst Sherlock settled back down in his seat, his face reddening as he began to wish he hadn’t said anything, when the two officers began laughing.

“You really weren’t exaggerating? You were going to wet yourself? That’s funny.” Sally teased.

“You sure you can make the ride, or do you need another toilet break?” Lestrade joined in.

John looked between Sherlock and the officers, giving them a frown, “Guys, go easy on him please. He’s had a rough day.”

“I don’t need you to stand up for me, John.” Sherlock responded sharply, not turning from his position staring out the window again.

“Sorry…just trying to help.” John mumbled and shut up.

The rest of the ride to 221B was quiet aside from the police siren coming from the car, an uncomfortable atmosphere lingering in the air.

Once they pulled up, Sherlock immediately got out, shoving his way through more reporters.

“John, can you tell Sherlock I have a case for him and want him to come to Scotland Yard tomorrow, seeing as the defence needs more time to gather evidence and witnesses so there isn’t a trial date tomorrow.” Lestrade asked and John nodded.

“I’ll tell him. Can’t guarantee he’ll show, but I’ll tell him.”

Lestrade nodded, “It’s a potential serial killer, maybe that’ll change his mind.”

John shrugged, “It might. Well I may see you tomorrow, then.” He waved then got out of the car, finding Sherlock waiting antsily outside the door, which appeared to be locked.

He strode towards the front door, pushing through the reporters, however one stepped in front of the door before he could unlock it.

“John, why did you speak up on Sherlock’s behalf during the trial?”

John tried to ignore the reporter and push him aside, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Because he’s my friend, and I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable.” He responded plainly, pushing the reporter aside now he seemed somewhat satisfied.

As soon as John had unlocked the door, Sherlock went racing inside. John soon followed him, slamming the door shut and locking it, letting out a sigh of relief now they were away from those reporters.

“Bloody reporters.” He muttered, slowly climbing the stairs after Sherlock.

Lo and behold, Sherlock was no-where to be seen and had locked himself in his bedroom.

John sighed, deciding to leave him to it and just tell him about the case later.

Around 2 hours later and John was knocking on Sherlock’s door, holding a container of Chinese takeout; he didn’t feel like cooking.

“I got you some Chinese, Sherlock.” He knew it was the detective’s favourite take-out food and hoped to tempt him outside with it.

However he got no response.

John sighed, “Sherlock, you can’t hide forever.”

Still no response.

“Okay fine, I’m leaving it outside the door for you.” He set the box and a fork outside the door, along with a glass of water and then left.

2 or so minutes later, when he had settled down to eat his own food, John heard a door creak open and then quickly close again, indicating that Sherlock had taken the food.

He sighed and began to eat, turning on the tv.

Sherlock grabbed the container, fork and glass then retreated quickly into his room, aware that John could hear him despite him being as quiet as possible.

He didn’t want to leave at all, but he was really hungry, having skipped lunch, and Chinese was his favourite, so he’d decided to swallow some of his dignity-if there was any left at all-and retrieve the meal.

Sherlock was happy with his choice as he dug in and quickly consumed the meal and drank down the glass of water.

The latter he realised was a mistake, as he felt a pang in his bladder and glanced at his watch to see it was now 8PM, which was around the time of his evening bathroom break.

He was a bit stuck, as he didn’t want to leave the bedroom and risk getting confronted by John, but he did not want a repeat of earlier.

So he decided to just wait John out for a bit. The man usually used the bathroom himself around this time after dinner, watched a bit more telly then went upstairs to read before he slept. So he didn’t have to wait too long.

Sherlock left the empty container, glass and fork on his desk and retreated to the bed where he collapsed onto his back with a sigh.

This had been one of the worst days ever, and Sherlock didn’t know if he could ever recover from it. The press were unrelenting about any ‘celebrity’ scandals and Sherlock felt like this classified as one.

Would Scotland Yard ever hire him again? He wondered to himself, unaware that Lestrade already had a case for him.

On schedule, Sherlock soon heard footsteps approaching the bathroom, which was adjacent to his bedroom, and the creak of a door closing, soon followed by a soft clank of the toilet seat being lifted.

These sounds made Sherlock more aware of his increasingly heavy bladder. He pressed his legs together slightly, not ashamed to show his need when he was alone.

It only got worse when he was able to hear the sound of John peeing, thanks to the thin walls.

A pang of desperation went through him, and Sherlock grabbed at himself, willing himself to wait just a bit longer for John to head upstairs.

But the man seemed to be taking even longer than normal, and the reasoning soon became clear when the sound of the shower turning on, suddenly filled Sherlock’s ears.

Fresh desperation tore through him and Sherlock was now kneeling on his bed, hunched over as his bladder throbbed, begging for relief.

“Dammit John, now, really?” he muttered angrily to himself, beginning to panic.

What was he supposed to do now?

At this point, Sherlock would have gone to the bathroom, forgetting his childish stake out in his bedroom. However now that option had been taken away from him.

All Sherlock could do, was hope that John was only taking a short shower.

As the minutes ticked on, Sherlock felt his need only got worse and worse, and the sound of the shower really wasn’t helping.

The shower seemed to be taking forever, and Sherlock finally decided to swallow his pride-again, whatever he had left- and ask Mrs Hudson to use her toilet.

It was awful, but better than wetting himself.

Slowly Sherlock got up, grunting and grabbing himself tightly as he got upright, taking a deep breath and willing himself to hang on for just a few more minutes.

He opened his bedroom door as quietly as possible, then shuffled down the hallway, trying to walk as normally as possible but he had to keep his legs pressed together to prevent an accident.

The walk downstairs was harder, but Sherlock just about managed, having to stop and grab himself every few steps, but he made it down to the landing without incident.

He sighed in defeat as he shuffled to Mrs Hudson’s door, hating himself. This was the second time today that he had embarrassed himself over such a simple need. Granted, neither time was really his fault entirely, but it was partially his fault.

Sherlock took a deep breath and knocked on the door, forcing himself to stand as straight and normal as he could; trying to have as much dignity as possible.

It took a minute for Mrs Hudson to answer, which bothered Sherlock on normal days, let alone when he was on the verge of soaking his trousers. He knocked again, a bit harder this time, fidgeting in place slightly.

Mrs Hudson opened the door not long after the second knock, looking at Sherlock in a confused way, “Sherlock? What are you doing down here at this time?”

Sherlock hesitated, regretting his decision. Mrs Hudson would be unlikely to judge him, but they had a mutual respect for each other, and he didn’t want that to be lost.

“Oh…I was just…checking in on you.” He lied, turning away slightly which allowed him to grab himself briefly to lift the pressure.

Mrs Hudson smiled, “Oh, well that’s kind of you Sherlock. I’m alright. My hip was just playing me up-“ she stopped talking as Sherlock suddenly doubled over.

He’d heard the sink running inside Mrs Hudson’s flat, and it had caused his bladder to spasm uncontrollably. Sherlock had to grab himself hard to stop his trousers getting wet, but a small spot leaked and was fairly visible on his grey pajama bottoms.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” Mrs Hudson asked, worried as she hurried to Sherlock’s side.

The detective tried to move away so she couldn’t see his predicament, but she soon saw and raised an eyebrow, “Did you need to use my loo, Sherlock?”

Sherlock blushed a dark shade of red and nodded desperately, hanging his head in shame but he managed to mumble out an explanation, “John…John’s showering…I…I couldn’t wait…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay. We all have emergencies.” She gently guided him inside, Sherlock shuffling along the best he could.

“It’s just down there. Don’t worry.” She paused as Sherlock grunted and bent over a bit more as the running water got louder, and another spurt dampened his trousers.

Mrs Hudson soon made the connection and quickly turned the tap off, “Sorry Sherlock, I was in the middle of doing the washing up. I left the tap on cause I wanted to answer the door as soon as possible, it sounded like an emergency, and I guess it was.”

Sherlock just nodded and waddled the rest of the way to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as he entered and ripping his trousers down, not bothering with the button as he clutched himself while he lifted the toilet seat and finally was able to unleash what he’d been holding it.

It felt just as good as it had back at the court room, and he let out a soft sigh, feeling the liquid rushing from his body.

Then just like before, once he was finished, he was left with the embarrassment of the situation. He washed his hands and looked down at the fairly noticeable wet spot on his trousers, sighing.

John would surely notice, and comment on it, then maybe he’d think he did have some kind of bladder problem; which he certainly didn’t have, he just struggled to know his limits sometimes.

Mrs Hudson knocked on the door, “Sherlock, I happen to have a pair of your other pajama pants if you want them. You can leave the others here, I’ll wash them and return them, and John will be none the wiser.”

Sherlock sighed again, this time in relief. Mrs Hudson was a saint.

“Please.” Was all he said in response.

A moment later there was a soft sound of fabric hitting the ground outside the door, “They’re out here, Sherlock.”

“Thanks.” Sherlock waited for the footsteps to retreat then opened the door, grabbed the striped pajama pants, pulled them on and then flushed the toilet.

He bundled up the other pants and exited the bathroom, unsure of what to do with them.

“Just put them in the hamper, here.” Mrs Hudson said, suddenly appearing behind him with a hamper in her hands.

Sherlock bashfully placed them into the hamper, looking away from her with a flushed face, “Thank you.” He repeated, very grateful for her kindness and tact.

She smiled and patted his back, “It’s okay, Sherlock. These things happen. It’ll be our little secret.”

Sherlock forced a smile and quickly headed for the exit, “Goodnight.” He said, shutting the door behind him then hurrying back up to his own flat.

John was exiting the shower as Sherlock was making a beeline for his bedroom, and raised an eyebrow, “Where were you?”

Sherlock quickly thought up an excuse, “I was checking on Mrs Hudson. I heard a bang and wanted to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself.”

“That’s nice of you.” John responded slowly, unsure if he should believe Sherlock, but what else could he have been doing?

“I know. Night, John.” Sherlock quickly responded before stepping into his bedroom, however John stuck his foot in the doorway before he could shut the door.

“Wait.”

Sherlock sighed, turning around and glancing at John but not making eye contact, embarrassed about what had just happened.

John of course was unaware of the incident and frowned in confusion. Sherlock always looked people dead in the eye when they spoke to him.

“What, John?”

“Lestrade told me he had a case for you, after you left the cab. He wants us to go to Scotland Yard tomorrow.” John explained and Sherlock immediately shook his head.

“Not happening. Lestrade is making this up so he can bully and make a fool of me.” Sherlock crossed his arms, determined not to leave this flat for at least a week, when hopefully everything would have blown over.

John sighed, “Sherlock, please. He said it may be a serial killer.”

Those words definitely got Sherlock’s attention. He grunted, torn now between what he should do. Maybe solving a case could help repair his soiled reputation, plus he may cheer him up and make him forget about this awful day.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

John smiled, glad he’d convinced him.

“Okay, well goodnight Sher-“ Sherlock had slammed the door shut in John’s face, as soon as he stepped back and removed his foot from the door, “-lock…”

With an eye roll, John headed upstairs to his own room to retire for the night, wondering why he even bothered with Sherlock sometimes.


End file.
